At the barricade, she pauses and glances over her shoulder. None of the boys have moved, dark shapes on the ground, draped in hammocks strung between trees, and curled up on platforms tucked among the branches. She squares her shoulders and steps over the invisible line separating Peter’s camp from the woods. A thrill runs through her, making her feel brave and dangerous.
With luck, the boys won’t notice she’s gone right away. She hurries her step. The sun could come up at any time, as she’s seen, but if she’s quick, perhaps she can escape while darkness holds and before anyone has had too much of a chance to miss her.
A terrible shape drops onto the path in front of her, and her heart jumps into her mouth along with a startled shout.
She can’t make sense of it. All she can think of is a massive spider or crab, angled limbs sticking up in wrong directions. It blocks the path completely; there’s no way to get around it. Are there monsters in Neverland?
Should she run back to the camp? Wake Peter and the boys? At the moment, she can’t do anything at all. It’s like being stuck in one of those dreams where you want to run but your legs won’t move. Eyes shine at her through the dark, a hint of a smile beneath them like the thinnest crescent moon.
All at once the shape resolves into Peter, but she feels no relief. There’s a wrongness to him, the way he’s crouched on the path, angled limbs like a marionette, like a wooden doll, all jumbled in a pile. He throws his head back, letting out a crowing call, a weird, warbling echo that makes the skin prickle all up and down her spine.
She takes a step back, and Peter leaps up, catching her wrist as the sound echoes across the camp, calling the boys awake. She has the sudden impression that they mean to tie her up, burn her like a witch. Perhaps they will eat her.
“Wendy has thought of an excellent new game!” Peter exclaims as sleepy-eyed boys join them, the menace vanished all at once, his expression pure delight.
Fear still hasn’t loosened its grip on her. She feels unsteady, struggling to keep up.
“A game?” She repeats Peter’s words dumbly.
“Moonlight hide and seek,” Peter says, his expression sly. Is it possible he doesn’t realize she meant to leave? Or does he know and he’s already forgiven her?
He darts forward, tapping a boy of middling height with pudgy cheeks and large hands.
“Tag! You’re it!” Peter dances away, spinning out of reach. “Everyone run and hide and Bertie will come find us.”
Then he’s gone, rabbiting away into the dark. A beat and the other boys scatter, leaving her and Bertie blinking at each other. Bertie rubs a hand over his face then shakes himself; she thinks of a bear waking from a long winter sleep.
Bertie’s smile when it spreads across his face is slow, and nowhere near as wicked as Peter’s, but there is a calculating gleam to it. They come to the same realization at the same moment—if he can tag her before she runs, she’ll be it instead of him. He swipes at her, but the motion is clumsy and she twists away. His fingers just miss her. Part of her knows that being it would give her more chance to escape, but instinct—the ingrained rules of the game that tell her being it is bad—takes over, and she bolts. The terror of being caught—the idea of being forced to hunt through the dark for all the boys who must know this island far better than she does—sweeps everything else from her mind.
She darts among the trees, running a zig-zag pattern, hoping to throw Bertie off her trail. Unlike the boys, she may not know the best places to hide, but she’s certain she can at least outrun him.
She hears boys crashing through leaves and branches, making no effort to be quiet. Sound distorts oddly among the trees, so she can’t quite tell which direction it’s coming from. She wishes Bertie would break off to pursue one of the others, but he remains focused on her, lumbering after her through the brush—a terrible, heavy sound. She doesn’t dare look back, pushing herself into an extra burst of speed.
Finally, the sound of pursuit grows more distant. She doesn’t slacken her pace yet, pulling even farther ahead. Instead of feeling tired, the longer she runs, the lighter, faster, and more agile she feels. It’s like the beach all over again. She no longer cares where she’s going. The air is sweet, almost like the tea Peter gave her to drink when she first arrived. Fear drops away, and she runs for the joy of it, forgetting about finding a place to hide as she leaps over fallen logs and dodges roots and stones.
Her blood sings, giddy, and she gives herself over to a wonderful sense of freedom. Being up past her bedtime. Being clever. And perhaps most importantly, not being it. Imagine Peter’s face when he sees she’s evaded being caught. Perhaps he’ll even declare her the winner of his ridiculous game!
She must have run clear across the island by now, and she feels as though she could go on, running forever, but she slows. There’s an ache in her legs, but in a pleasant way. She can’t hear any of the others, which makes it the perfect time to look around on her own without Peter rushing her here and there.
Plants rise on either side of a faintly visible path, massive dark green leaves glossy in the moonlight. They remind her of elephant ear plants, but even larger, and with blooms nearly as big as her head. She pauses for a closer look. The petals are all coral and sunset at the edges, deepening
