“No one knows.” Peter shrugs. “Just me and, like, three grown-ups.”
“Well, who?” I ask, feeling annoyed about it in case I should like to be young forever.
Peter yawns. “Dunno.”
“So you just found it?” I ask with a frown.
He nods. “There was a nice shimmer to it, so I tried it, and then I just didn’t get old after that.” He lies back on the rock behind, but not before taking his shirt off and tossing it away.
He is regrettably handsome like this. Actually, he’s regrettably handsome whichever way you slice him.
I swallow and he notices, grinning up at me. “Kicked now?”
I lie down, facing him on my side. “Yes,” I whisper quietly.
He moves in closer towards me. “Good,” he whispers back.
Then there’s a big splash as Calla dives in. “Peter!” she calls. “Peter, come in. The water’s perfect! Your favourite kind of temperature.”
“Just a bit cooler than a cool bath?” Peter asks, sitting up immediately.
Calla is barely through her nod when he dives in after her. His head pops back up after a moment, and he sighs with a deep contentment.
Rye and I catch eyes, and he gives me a look.
“But still then,” I call to Peter. “How are you big now?”
He shrugs, shoving his hands through his hair. “I just didn’t take any for a while.”
Rye frowns, interested. “How long a while?”
Peter shrugs again and duck-dives under the water, and it feels incredibly deliberate and well timed. He stays down long enough that the fact that we asked him a question and he didn’t answer drifts gently from our minds, like a cloud floating through a portion of sky.
His head breaks the surface of the water, and he swims towards me, something in his hand. He offers it to me, and I hold my hand out.
He drops into my hand the biggest pearl I’ve ever seen—the size of an apple. I stare down at it, eyes wide.
“For you.” He smiles at me angelically before he backstrokes away.
I see Rye peer over at it out of the corner of his eye, and his mouth twitches in a way I don’t understand, and it doesn’t really matter anyway, because there’s a sunbeam that casts Peter in an terribly wonderful light, and all my other thoughts dissipate like the white on a wave.
“Gosh,” I sigh, putting my chin in my hands and staring after him. “You must have the most brilliant stories.”
“I do.” Peter nods coolly.
“I have a good one, Peter,” Calla says.
Peter lets out a little sigh, like he can’t quite be bothered to hear it. “It won’t be as good as mine, but all right. Go on then.”
“Well, I was on the riverbank between Preterra and Zomertierra with—”
“With who?” Peter cuts her off sharply with a frown.
This pleases Calla the same way it makes my mind feel like it’s tripping on a stone.
Disappointment’s such a nuisance. It creeps up on you, shines an annoying light on the things that you care about that you didn’t know you did.
“With Heron,” she tells him with a glint in her eye. She pushes her dark hair over her shoulder and looks over at me. “He’s the son of the chief. Next in line.”
She’s looking at me as she says it, but I feel quite sure the information isn’t being shared for my benefit. She’s saying it to me, but she’s dangling it over Peter’s head.
“Why were you on a riverbank with him?” He frowns.
“Because.” She shrugs as though she’s entirely indifferent about it. “You weren’t speaking to me. I was too big, remember?” She gives him a look.
Peter shakes his head. “I was stupid back then.”
She nods. “I agree.”
Rye breathes out his nose and scoots over closer to me.
“Anyway, we were walking along the riverbank, and this thing came and attacked us—”
“What thing?” Peter’s eyes brighten at the very mention of danger.
“I don’t know. It was strange—” She shakes her head. “I didn’t get a good look at it, but I saw it for a second through the reflection in the water, and I think it looked like a person?” She pauses, thinking back to it. “But then, kind of not really?”
Peter swims to her, eyes wide and spellbound.
My grandmothers always said he’s a sucker for a story.
“And then what?”
“Well, then”—Calla eyes him dramatically—“it grabbed Heron by the ankle and started to drown him—”