Still baffled by how wounded he looked, Gwen nonetheless promised, “I won't.”
“It's the moments that you look away that you grow up,” Peter said. “As soon as you look away, you start to forget, and growing-up is forgetting. Don't ever look away from me, Gwenny. Don't ever forget me.” He still gripped her arm, as if he thought she might disappear into the night if he didn't hold onto her. Gwen couldn't imagine why this struck such an ugly chord with him, until she thought about who he was.
Peter did not believe in the past. The present and future all bled together for him, but the past was less than fiction to him. He didn't want to be forgotten for the same reason he didn't care about the secret sketchbook Gwen had spent their late-night conversation clutching. The past didn't exist. It was wholly irrelevant.
Gwen took his hand, and held it in hers, reassuring him, “I won't, Peter. Even if they took me away tomorrow and I grew up and lived to be a ninety-year-old lady, I'd still remember you. I'll never forget you.”
Peter nodded, once, as he recovered from the fright she had given him. “Good,” he said.
The moon bubbled into the night sky, slowly slipping into its natural silver hue. Peter squeezed her hand, but made no promises of his own. Peter did not offer to remember Gwen, he did not promise to never forget her, and Gwen didn't ask him to. She knew that for Peter Pan, there would never be a past. If anything ever separated them, she would dissolve into the no-man's land of his unused memory, never to be summoned again.
Yet they would be happy, even alone—Gwen content with her memories, and Peter untroubled by his loss.
Chapter 17
When Gwen woke the next morning, she knew everything before she even opened her eyes. She knew where she was, she knew what day it was, and she knew it was minutes until dawn. All this came with the piercing consciousness of the morning. The grown-ups, just off shore, would arrive today with an arsenal of magic-derived technology and the sole purpose of destroying Neverland. Even with the help of the pirates, the lost children stood little chance of completely preventing the adults from landing ashore. The war that had quietly and secretly raged in the background of reality for so long became an assault on the homeland of magic today.
The children tittered with an almost pleasant permutation of excitement and fear. They reached no consensus on how to dress for war. The girls mostly donned practical jumpers or overalls and tied their hair back, but others resolved to meet the challenges of the day dressed like ladies. Some boys wore dark clothes like ninjas, others covered their faces like train bandits, and still others scrounged up camouflaged garments and tiny army helmets. A few children took their cues from Peter and did not dress up at all, for today was just another adventure in Neverland.
Rosemary wrapped herself in the most tattered clothes she could find so she “wouldn't have to worry about getting them dirty or torn,” and Gwen decided to pull on her favorite blue dress with some leggings. She'd had many adventures in the calico-printed play dress, and she had heard once that when taking a test, it helped to wear the same clothes worn while studying. They claimed familiar clothes helped people remember the material and stay calm. Today would be like a test, forcing her to recall and employ all that she'd learned in Neverland, back when the stakes were so much lower.
Gwen approached Rosemary as she attempted to restrain her hair with a simple headband. “Hey Rose,” she told her sister. “I have something I want you to have for today.” Gwen pulled out the skeleton key and gave it to her sister, explaining the skeleton key's ability to open any lock. Rosemary, delighted by this, promised to keep it safe, and did not have the empathy to register the deep concern that Gwen offered it with.
Everyone gathered the fanny packs, utility belts, backpacks, and satchels they'd filled with supplies. Dillweed and Hawkbit fluttered around, checking under furniture and bed sheets for anything the children might forget. The children carried their daggers, slingshots, and blowguns through the underground home's tunnels, marching in a uniform line behind Newt and Sal, the proud architects of the finished tunnel system. The boys sang to a military cadence, and the children behind fell into the call-and-repeat song. The tunnels echoed with their voices:
I don't know but I've been told
It's no fun getting old.
I don't know but it's been said
We're better off here instead.
I don't know but must be true:
Neverland needs me and you.
I don't know but I believe
All grown-ups do is grieve.
They soon arrived at the edge of the island, and climbed to the surface through a trapdoor buried under a thin layer of sand. The passageway wasn't big enough for grown-ups—Gwen barely fit through it—and since it needed the magic word applesauce to open, the children felt confident the adults wouldn't compromise their tunnel system.
One at a time, they exited and flew into the castle, taking their preliminary defensive positions in the pre-dawn dark. Oat carried Gwen's radio inceptor up, and he and Goose—now communication experts—turned it on and began hunting for the adults' frequency. The island's fairy population stashed itself away deep in the jungle. Too fragile for warfare, the fairies knew their energy was best spent nearer the Never Tree where they could collectively help hide it. Dillweed and Hawkbit, bolder and braver for their previous encounters with adults, elected to stay with the children and Hollyhock, as always, stayed glued to Peter's side. They set to work dusting all the children with a final protective powdering of fairy dust.
The sun crept up from the horizon, its pink claws stretching up to catch the day. Smaller children distributed blowgun and slingshot ammo while older children with better aim got comfortable in their
