She had missed her entire junior year. The lawyer and therapist had both explained she still had options—she could repeat the grade, take summer classes to prepare for senior year, or study for and take the GED. None of her options appealed to Gwen while she sat listening to her own breath in the empty cell. She had left right before homecoming, and now prom approached while she sat detained out at Lake Agana.
She didn't mind. She'd detached herself from that world and felt that she shouldn't join it until she'd caught back up to it. She had spent nine months in Neverland? She wanted to spend nine months in this waiting room, letting her age catch up to her before she went back out into reality. She rolled her acorn from one hand to the other.
The world wouldn't wait for her, though. The days she spent at the facility were as wasted as those in Neverland, and not an iota as enjoyable. She needed to sign her papers and get on with her life. She would only wait until her emotions caught back up to her, until she remembered why she had always, in some corners of her heart, wanted to grow up.
Four days in, she got an unexpected visit.
The door to her cell swung open and, without any greeting, Andrew Hoek marched in with a short ladder and a toolbox. The engineer didn't so much as look at Gwen. The door closed behind him. He set his ladder in the middle of the room and climbed up with his toolbox. The cell's sole light fixture sparkled in his silver and black hair, and illuminated every stain on his grey coveralls. He looked at the light bulb a moment, took a hammer out of his box, and smashed the bulb.
“Yep,” he remarked. “Definitely burned out.”
Gwen continued to sit on her bed, but watched as he screwed in a new light, as if the task was standard maintenance. Without another word, he closed his toolbox, came down off the ladder, folded up the ladder, and headed back out the door. As he left, he slipped an envelope onto the table. The door closed and locked behind him. After a minute's hesitation, Gwen got to her feet and fetched the envelope: a letter from Jay.
Inside, she found six long, handwritten pages of apologies, praise of her character, and the nebulous offers only ever extended by well-meaning people who know they can't do anything to help. He encouraged her to sign her papers and come home, even if she was too mad to ever speak to him again. She read it over and over. Like the acorn, it became a comforting artifact.
She wasn't angry at Jay. She surprised herself when she realized she wasn't even mad at Lasiandra—not really. When she thought about everything, she didn't see how this crazy adventure could have had any other outcome. Everyone involved had been so jumbled and confused, so immature and uninformed, it didn't seem worth the discomfort to spend time angry at anyone. She felt drained of emotion, and did not desire to fill herself back up until she had pleasant feelings at her disposal. Life would progress as soon as she resumed it. Still, something deep inside of herself told her Neverland's dissolution had already torn a rift in her relationship with Jay that would never fully heal.
Jay had not meant to ruin her world, and as soon as he realized his disasterous role in that destruction he had worked to correct for it. He had never intended to wound Gwen, but her heart could not muster the strength to love him on his intentions alone. It was easier to forgive than to forget, and painful memories could haunt a heart harder than ghosts. It didn't matter anyways; he would be off to Maryland on his full ride scholarship in a matter of months. Jay was growing up—faster than Gwen, even as time began to to pass for her again.
The note expedited Gwen's desire to leave, but did not solidify it. She felt better, but still needed time, and did not intend to leave without seeing Peter.
When the fifth day rolled around, the Anomalous Activity officers sent in a familiar face.
The door squeaked open and the white coat therapist ushered a young girl in. “I thought you two might like to talk,” the therapist explained, before closing the door and leaving them together.
Gwen, lying in bed, sat up as a preteen girl came traipsing in. “Hi,” the girl announced. “My name's Barbra. It's very nice to meet you.” She twirled the glittering plastic bracelets on her wrists as she stood before Gwen, wearing a hot pink butterfly shirt and pair of tiny jeans.
At first, Gwen didn't even recognize her. The girl's sweet expression and polite voice jogged her memory, and Gwen realized that she would have recognized this girl had she only been in a calico dress and covered in daisy chain jewelry.
“Oh my goodness, Bard!” she exclaimed. “It's me, Gwen!”
Six months older and more entrenched in reality, Bard seemed a different girl altogether. Half a year was no short time to a child, and the seasons had steadily swept Neverland out from her mind. Still, the memory of Gwen sprung back to her as soon as she was reminded. “Oh Gwen! I haven't seen you in so long. I hope you have been very well and not at all sad. It was so sad, last time I saw you!”
“Yes,” Gwen agreed. “It was. But how are you doing? Have you been okay, Bard?”
She laughed, and Gwen realized the old nickname must have seemed an absurd relic from a time long since lost to dreams and dust. Bard—Barbara—answered, “I'm great! I'm really glad my mom let me come see you. Do you know I'm the only girl in the whole fifth grade who knows how to knit? I'm the only kid who knows
