Pan's Revenge (11 page)

“
Hey,”
I
reply loud enough for her to
hear.

“Um, Peter, right?”

“Yep.” I drop the last board I ripped from
the window and casually walk down the pathway to meet her at the
gate.

“I didn’t know someone was moving in. Did you
buy the house?”

I begin to shake my head but quickly realize
my mistake and answer, “Yes.”

“That’s…cool. I actually live just two houses
up.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

Damn. What got into me? “Um…yes.” Then I
remember what she said yesterday in the park. “The party? At your
house? I’ve been there, remember?”

She smiles a little. “Right.”

It’s better
to have her believe we know each other from this party than telling
her stories about Neverland again. This will have to wait for a
while. Until she knows me better. “You l
ook like you’re going somewhere.” I nod at her bag. “With
all that package. Vacation?”

Now she laughs. “No. School. And I’m not
going, I’m coming home.”

“
Of course.”
I roll my eyes like it was a stupid thing of me to say. But in
fact, I’m dying to know what
school
is. When she starts
bouncing on the balls of her feet, obviously ready to walk on, I
quickly think of a way to meet her again. “Will you go to the park
with your sisters later?”

Angel tilts her head, shielding her eyes with
her hand from the sun. I follow her gaze southward. A sinister
front of dark clouds is gathering at the horizon. “Not today,” she
says then. “Looks like it’s going to rain in a bit.” Her eyes find
mine again, her mouth curls up in a friendly smile. “Maybe
tomorrow?”

Irritated by
the lack of chance to talk to her again today, I force a smile in
return and nod. “See you then.”

Lifting her hand, she wiggles her fingers in
a feeble goodbye and walks up the street. With my hands braced on
the gate, I lean out and stare after her until she turns into their
front garden and disappears out of my view.

Great. Now I have to slay time until I can
see her again. And flying into her room at night when she’s asleep
just seems like a rotten thing to do. This really shouldn’t become
a habit.

I rip the
boards from the last window and carry them inside just in time
before the rain starts to fall. There’s already a pile of wood in
the open fireplace. Rubbing a twig on one of the boards until smoke
rises, I blow gently then put some dry weeds on the blaze and wait
until the flame is big enough to light the rest of the wood. Soon a
cozy warmth spreads in the room. For a long time, I stand in front
of the window and look out at the darkened sky. Flashes zoom down
to earth while hard rain washes several years of dirt from the
windows of my new home.

I haven’t
seen rain in over a hundred years. It never rains in Neverland. My
throat constricts and I sigh. I miss
home. Or maybe, I just miss Tami, Stan, Toby, and all the
others. Being alone, especially when there’s a gloomy storm
outside, isn’t fun.

Hands
tucked in my pockets, I hang my head as I turn
and walk to the fireplace. At least the flames give me some
comfort. They remind me of the bonfires we used to gather around
most evenings. Unfortunately, they also remind me of my quenching
hunger. I decide to wait until after dark and then fly to the
little wood not too far from here. Maybe I can catch me some
pheasant or a rabbit. Boy, even a squirrel sounds good at this
point.

*

I wake up in front of the mantelpiece. No
fire burns in it anymore. There isn’t even smoke rising from the
embers. Heck, how long did I sleep?

I roll on my back and stretch on the floor,
yawning loudly. The quilt I found in one of the upper rooms after
dinner last night made for a nice camp. It’s far better than
sleeping curled up in a wing chair where most of my limbs go stiff
during the night.

A glance out
the window proves the rain has stopped and the dark clouds made
room for a bright blue sky once again. Warm sunrays flood the
house. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sit up. Damn, head rush.
My brain seems to twist in my skull like a carousel. It’s
nauseating. Moaning, I rise from the floor
and, with squinted eyes, feel my way to the bathroom using
the wall. Drinking some water from cupped hands helps a little. The
sick feeling disappears.

As I look up and glance at my reflection in
the mirror, I suck in a horrified breath. The stubble in my face
has grown over night, and not just a millimeter. What was only a
dark shadow on my cheeks last night is now a layer of half an inch
of fur on the lower third of my face. What the hell! My heart clips
like a racehorse.

I need to get rid of this beard and fast.
Angel can’t see me like that when we meet in the park later.

After cleaning my dagger which I used for
killing the pheasant last night, I shave. It’s a good thing the
slim blade is sharp enough to cut the beard, but it leaves my skin
red and burning. Cold water splashed on it eases the pain.

In the front garden of my new home is an
apple tree. I pluck a dainty red fruit on the way out and eat it
while I head down to the park. Time to meet Angel again.

PAULINA LIFTS THE Polaroid camera my parents
gave me last month for my eighteenth birthday in front of her face
and pushes the release button. A black square picture comes out,
which I take and shake until the colors come to life on it. It’s me
who smiles from that photo—again. Seems like she found her favorite
object to shoot.

“
Why don’t
you take some picture
s of the ducks in
the pond?” I suggest.

Squealing,
she runs off with Brittney Renae fast on her heels. I lean back on
the bench and reach for my book, but a shadow falling over my face
makes me look up
instead of starting to
read. Against the blinding sun stands the silhouette of a young
man, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, head
tilted. “Hi,” he says.

“
Peter!” I’m
surprised about the joy I feel at seeing him again. Scooting to one
end of the bench, I invite him to sit down with me. “Where have you
been the past couple of weeks?”

He eyes me sideways as he lowers. “Couple of
weeks?”

“
Yeah. I was
afraid you’d changed your mind and didn’t move into the house after
all.” Why in the world did I just use the term
I was afraid
? It’s not
like it would make any difference to me if he lived in our street
or not. Or so I’d want him to believe. He doesn’t need to know that
I actually went down to his house one afternoon last week and rang
the bell to see if he was home.

Placing one leg on the seating, I face
him—and gasp. Gosh, hopefully, he didn’t notice that. But what’s
with his face? He looks…older. Not much, but enough to notice a
change. Or is it maybe just because he shaved when last time he
sported an enticing dusting of stubble? Then again, shaving usually
makes men look younger. Peter on the contrary looks like mid twenty
all of a sudden.

My staring
obviously makes him uncomfortable. He runs a hand through his hair
and clears his throat. Ashamed, I quickly lower my gaze to the book
I’m clasping. “So um, where have you been?”

Peter takes a surprisingly long time to
answer. “Home. I was with friends. Sorry I missed you here last
time.”

“
Nah, it’s
okay.” I wave a dismissive hand. I had only been waiting for two
hours for him to show up, but I don’t say that out loud. It’s been
a long time since I felt attracted to any guy, but Peter captured
my interest from the first time we met. Even though he’s dressed
like a normal young man, he somehow seems not from this world
whenever I look into his sky blue eyes. And the way he often
studies me before he answers one of my questions makes him even
more mysterious. Let’s see if I can disclose some of his
secrets.

“Do you have a job in London?” He suddenly
seems too old to be a college student. “The house you moved in is
pretty big and probably quite expensive too.”

Peter places his ankle on his other thigh and
grabs his shin with both hands. “My father was rich. He sort of
horded a treasure before he died.”

That reminds me in a terrible way of how I
put my foot into my mouth last time we sat on the very same bench.
To avoid going down that road again, I change topic. “How do you
like your new home?”

“The house is big. Way too big for me alone.”
He shrugs. “But I like the neighbors.”

“You already got too meet some of them?”

He gives me a lopsided smile. “One.”

I smile back. “Now, that’s not really a lot,
is it?”

“Enough for me.” Peter winks, and there it
is—the first moment where he looks like a totally ordinary young
man. My cheeks grow a little warmer.

When he tilts his head a little more, a
strand of his tousled brown hair falls forward into his eyes. I
want to reach out and brush it away. My fingers actually itch to do
it. Luckily, Brittney Renae’s call from down by the little round
pond breaks this awkward moment between us.

“Angel! Paulina won't give me the camera. I
want to take pictures now. Tell her she should give it to me.”

While my baby
sister obviously has no trouble with screaming the birds away in
the park, I refuse to do the same. Rising to my feet, I look back
at Peter. I don’t want to leave him just yet, and from his boyish
pout I suppose he doesn’t want me to go either. But words evade me.
So I nod over my shoulder in the direction of the pond, sweep my
arm in a come-along-gesture, and finally I shrug, not to forget my
silly grimace.

Peter laughs, gets up and comes with me.

My hands tucked into the pockets of my coat
that I wear over my long sleeved shirt and the light blue pair of
jeans, I amble next to Peter and try to distinguish that funny
scent on him. Considering it’s rude to tell him he smells like he
slept in a coal cellar last night, I rather not to mention it.

Ducks chatter
in the water and it doesn’t take long until we make out Paulina
squatting in front of them, taking more pictures. Brittney Renae
stands behind her, tapping her tiny foot on the pebbled ground. Her
face takes on a hopeful shine when she sees me nearing.

“Come on, Paulina. Give your sister the
camera.”

“But why?” the honey bunny protests, rising.
“She’ll only take more pictures of grass.”

“That’s not true. I was going to take
pictures of Angel.”

Again
, I think. But I suppress a
sigh and, at my stern look and holding out my hand, Paulina hands
over the camera.

“
What’s
that?” Peter asks me then. Obviously, he never s
aw one like this before. My generation takes pictures with
their phones or maybe even with a digital camera. I’m probably the
only girl my age who wanted a relic like this for her
birthday.

“It’s a Polaroid,” I tell him. “An
old-fashioned camera.”

He just keeps staring at me as though I
switched to a different language.

“To take pictures?” I continue. “Wait, I’ll
show you.” Lifting the camera so that I can look through the lens,
I take a photo of him which then comes out at the bottom of the
camera. After shaking it, I show him his dazed portrait and laugh
at his even funnier expression when he studies it.

“Wicked,” he breathes.

A smile pulls at the corners of my lips.
Sometimes he’s just sweet.

“Now let me take one,” Brittney Renae urges
and tugs on my coat. I hand her the Polaroid and she targets
me.

I glance over
my shoulder to Peter. “Want to be on the picture, too?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

I feel how he stands behind me, the warmth of
his body seeping though my clothes at my back. “Ready?”

“On three,” Brittney Renae exclaims.
“One…”

On two, Peter startles me as he scoops me up
in his arms and cuddles me against his chest. On three, I already
have my arms wrapped around his neck and laugh out loud. There’s a
click, then the Polaroid spits out the picture and Brittney holds
it out to me before she scurries away with Paulina.

When Peter seems reluctant to let go of me, I
say cheerfully, “Put me down?”

“If you insist,” he answers and smiles. Then
he sets me to my feet. Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted after
all.

I take a shy step away from him and reach for
the photo. Together we wait until the black disappears. The image
that shows after a few seconds is lovely. I show teeth as I laugh
happily while an adoring half-smile plays around the corners of
Peter’s mouth. His eyes are warm and on my face in that
picture.

Peter smirks as he looks at it. “Can I keep
this?”

“Um…sure.” Hopefully my disappointment
doesn’t show through. On the other hand, I still have the picture I
took of him before.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimes
half past five. I wave the twins back to me than face Peter. “It’s
time for us to walk home. Our housekeeper always prepares dinner at
six.”

He nods but
he doesn’t look too happy. I like that. “See you again tomorrow?”
he asks.

“On Wednesdays and Thursdays I have school
until five. But maybe we’ll be here Friday afternoon again.” I give
him a hopeful smile, but even before he can agree or refuse, my
smile slips. “No wait. There’s a school dance Friday night.” It’s
the spring formal in the midst of May. “I won’t have time to take
the girls to the park that day.”

“
Pity,” is
all he says. At least he looks like not meeting the next three days
bothers him as much as it—strangely enough—bothers me.