Chapter 1
Lawson
“This way.”
I follow the whisper of a voice to see Oakley huddled behind a tree, the tea towel he wrapped around his head as an eye patch tied bulkily over his light brown hair. The stick he’s using as a sword is at his side.
I sneak close, peering around the tree.
“You see them?” he asks, voice hushed, the register a little lower at eleven than it used to be.
It’s a strange thing to notice, the passage of time, and my heart beats swiftly with it.
I refocus on the pirates. They’re huddled on the shore, their ship a log anchored in the tiny bend of river flowing just outside the woods we’re hidden within.
“I see them,” I confirm.
“On my count,” Oakley says, hunching low. “One… Two… Three!”
We spring from behind the tree, our sticks cutting through the air in front of us, the pirates no match for the strengthof our swords. The fight is over quickly, every one of our enemies lying in tatters. Oakley and I stumble forward to catch our breath beneath the shade of a willow tree. The branches sway gently in the breeze, surrounding us in tendrils of green, sunlight peeking through the leaves and scattering pixie dust on the air around our heads.
“Good fight,” Oakley says, sounding out of breath.
I hum my agreement, setting my stick on the ground and leaning my head back against the sturdy trunk of the tree. The branches spread out overhead, looking like an earthborn star.
“What is it?” Oakley asks, slipping the tea towel off his head. He blinks several times, his multihued eyes flashing.
Oakley has the most interesting eyes I’ve ever seen. Each is a blend of brown and blue. Heterochromia, he told me it’s called. Sometimes folks will have one brown eye and one blue. Sometimes it’s a burst of color ringed by another. In Oakley’s case, each eye is marbled, almost. Blue and brown together as if someone dabbed the colors on with a paintbrush.
I shrug, but Oakley flicks my forehead, causing a tiny sting I don’t actually mind.
“Tell me,” he persists.
“Do you ever think about growing up?”
His brow furrows. “’Course. Everyone’s gotta do it.”
“We’re growing up,” I point out. “Right now. And when we do…”
I don’t have to say it aloud for Oakley to get it. We both know this game we play is just that, a game. But even so, our own Neverland is my favorite, imagined or real. A place where we can fight pirates and hide away under our safe willow tree, just the two of us, lost boys by choice because being lost together never once has been scary.
But everyone grows up except for Peter Pan. And someday soon, it’ll be my last day with Oakley beneath this willow. The last time I’ll sit with him as the pixies dance on the air, born from the sunbeams cutting through the tree.
One day, I won’t see any of it. Not the pirates. Not our safe little cove. And certainly not the pixies.
One day, I will be grown. And then what of me and Oakley?
“Hey,” he says gently, flicking my forehead again.
“Cut it out,” I grumble, a halfhearted protest at best.
He gives me a grin, although it tempers after a moment. “Growing up doesn’t mean growing apart, Law.”
I swallow harshly. “You mean it?”
“’Course. Where would either of us even go? This is our home. And you and me? We ain’t ever gonna let something silly like getting older change who we are. We’re best friends. We’ll always be that.”
My eyes sting as I reach into my pocket, rolling the smooth ceramic surface of the thimble I stole from my mother’s sewing supplies between my fingertips. Wendy gave Peter a thimble. A kiss, she called it. A youthful promise.
