The tree the boys live in itself is a wonder, and I realise the moment I step inside it that it must be spelled somehow, because it opens out into a maze of a room that backs onto what looks like an Indonesian jungle.
It’s all spiral stairs made of logs and twigs and nets that sprawl the length of the rooms and I suppose act as a kind of balcony. The roofs are thatched with palm fronds, and everything seems to be held together by sticks and rope and other things that should hold this together, but things are never what they seem here. You must remember that.
Scattered about also are these… I don’t know what to call them other than nests? All of them look incredibly inviting, but none more so than the nest at the very top, which is piled high with quilts and pillows, and of all the beds I can see, it’s overtly and obnoxiously the best one, so I know immediately that one belongs to Peter.
“Have you got her?” asks a young boy, racing out. He has dark brown hair and dark eyes.
“Yes, do you?” demands another with light brown hair and glasses without any glass in them.
They both look about eleven or twelve years old.
Another boy, bigger and broader than the first two—yet still ever so much less than Peter*—strolls out, arms folded. He has almost black hair and a cheeky face.
“She’s right there, gents.” He nods over at me. “You must look before asking your inane questions.”
“Boys!” Peter hollers as he balances on a roof beam. “I got one!”
I stare over at Peter, scowling a bit at being referred to as a “one,” before I look over at the other boys, giving them a collective, uncomfortable nod.
“Hello.”
“Hello!” says the first one with the dark hair. “I’m Kinley.” He shakes my hand vigorously. “Never met a girl before. This is so exciting.” He has a little cockney accent, so cute.
“Never?” I blink.
“No.” Kinley shakes his head solemnly.
The one with the glasses frowns over at him. “You know Feather and Calla and Sahara and—”
“Are those girls?” Kinley asks, completely shocked.
“Yes!” the boys and Peter say loudly in unison.
Kinley thumbs over in Peter’s direction and whispers, “What’s he always banging on about girls for then, like they’re special?”
“They are,” the one with the glasses says. He sounds a little more like he might have been from West London once upon a lifetime ago. He shoves Kinley away. “My name is Percival, and unlike my foolish friend, I understand the tender seriousness of the feminine ways.”
And I have no idea what he means by that, but I swear to you, I keep a straight face as he says it.
“How noble,” I tell him, trying not to dishearten him.
“You may call me Perce,” he tells me nobly.
I nod and smile politely. “I’m Daphne.”
“Brodie.” The bigger one holds out his hand. He has the remnants of an accent that’s rather hard to pick. A bit Scottish? Maybe American? Either way, I get the feeling that he might be quite stern with the other two.
“Where did you find her, Peter?” Percival asks, flying up to the beam Peter’s on.
“I found her in the bedroom window, like I knew I would!” Peter declares. “I told you she’d be waiting for me. They’re always waiting for me,” he says and then shoves Percival off the beam.
I gasp because I’m new here, and for a moment, I forgot where I was as the boy tumbles through the air and lands in one of the nets below. He laughs merrily and stares up adoringly at Peter like he’s a god.
He stands there, Peter Pan, hands on his hips, how they’ve always described him except for bigger and so much more beautiful （and perhaps mildly more frightening）。 He stares down at me, eyes locked, and then he gives me a half-baked smile, and I feel it in my stomach. Have you ever had a person give you a look and you feel it in your stomach? Multiple times throughout this day, I have been entirely certain （and it’s been empirically proven） that I am not the only person Peter Pan sees, but right now, in this moment, I know I am, and I feel myself grow a centimetre taller because that’s what happens when Peter Pan looks at you. And then it’s gone. The moment wisps away, and his face changes from the curious sweetness he was gazing at me with to the look he gets in his eye when he’s about to jump off a high thing, and then he leaps off the beam, flipping through the air and landing on one of the nets.
The other two boys copy him, soaring up for a few seconds, then nose-diving down.