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Peter’s Wendy
“Wendy, stop your damn sniveling and grow the fuck up already! Your mother wanted me to take care of the little snots, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Send ‘em off to boarding school, that’ll take care of ‘em! Hah!”
Wendy, rubbing the red out of her cheek, left her stepdad guffawing on the couch to go check on the boys one last time. It was pointless to keep arguing. Once Paul had had his drink, there would be no changing his mind. John and Michael were headed to boarding school for sure.
“Wendy! Wendy, will Paul send us away, Wendy? Wendy, oh, Wendy, please don’t let him. We don’t want to go, Wendy!” said Michael, sobbing more than speaking.
“Oh, Michael.” She crooned, stooping down to scoop him up, “I wish there was something I could do to help, but remember how much Mother wanted you boys to get a good education? You must go and do this for her. Can you do that for me John?”
John stood in the doorway to his and Michael’s room. They had always shared this room, Michael, Wendy, and himself, ever since they were toddlers he couldn’t remember anything different. There was something comforting about sleeping with others in the room, and at the thought of leaving it, he shuddered a little. “I’ll try Wendy.” he managed.
“Mom would be so proud of you two. I just know she would. Now then, Michael, would you like a bedtime story?”
“Yes” he sniffled.
“Alright then, you, into bed. John, you too!”
Once the boys were snuggled in, she began into her story.
Cinderella stood at the wheel of the schooner, having doffed her single glass slipper below, she shivered a little at the cold. The waves curled and crashed beneath her, but she was not afraid, storms far worse than this had tried to take The Carriage and had been unsuccessful. All she had to do was ride it out. Prince Charming was waiting for her across the Mediterranean and though she had been out to sea for three days longer than expected, she had prepared enough provisions to get her through this night and the next. “If only this storm would let me be!” she yelled into the wind. Delicious smells began wafting up from the galley as she stood her turn at the wheel. How long had it been since she had eaten? Had she eaten at all today? She wondered this suddenly, but all too soon her thoughts turned back to the wind and the waves as a 30 foot high green wall came crashing over the bow…
Soon the boys were asleep in their beds, dreaming their last dreams in this room. Seeking solace Wendy tip toed down the hallway, passing her stepdad who was out on the couch, and silently opening the door to her mother’s sewing room. The lavender walls cast a cool glow into the room as she flicked on the lamp on the desk. Her fingers slid over the lacquer on the wood, tracing the dents from her mother’s constant writing. Softly she caressed a portrait of a woman, smiling an iridescent smile, brown curls tumbling down her forehead, loosely covering one eye. “Oh Mom.” She whispered, before catching herself and stealing back into the silence. She sank down into her mother’s window chair and the tension from the day slipped from her shoulders, sleep somehow overtaking her.
Wendy of course, had known that her Stepdad was serious about the boys leaving, but when she woke up and John and Michael’s beds were made up, she knew something was terribly wrong. Slipping on the clothes she had laid out the night before after tucking the boys in, she peeked into the family room.
“John? Michael?” she called, fearing her own echo. “John?! Michael??!”
Tearing down the hall she searched the rooms, and finding no one in their house, she ran outside.
“No…” she breathed.
Her stepdad pulled into the drive, their blue two-door coughing its way into the garage, backseat; empty.
“No. No! NO! NO! PAUL! WHERE ARE THEY?! HOW COULD YOU!??! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!”
It was as though her whole body was on fire. She’d kill him. She’d kill him! How could he do this to her?! She didn’t even get to say goodbye! It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t right! No! It was all wrong! This place, this house, it wasn’t her home anymore! Wendy stumbled backwards onto the street, searching wildly around for something –what? Anything. An escape. A way out. An exit from this nightmare. So she did the only thing she could think of; she ran.
She ran and ran and ran, until she thought her lungs would burst from her chest and then she kept going as if the devil himself were chasing her. The pale blue of morning began to appear over her small town, but she took no notice, her vision tunneling into the pavement before her. The quiet streets wouldn’t be populated for another hour, but she took the turn onto the bike path anyway. Her feet hurt now and her chest ached worse than on sprint day in PE class, but she pushed on. Tears were coming now, fast, and collapsing into the grass beneath an oak she gave into them, great sobs wracking her spindly frame.
Wendy sat there crying as the sun came up. It wasn't until an hour later that she could look around her and take stock of her surroundings through her tears. She sat a mere 1/4 mile from her high school and her watch showed 7:45. 15 minutes from the start of class. She didn't really want to go to school, but in a town as small as Newbell you don't have much choice. The likely hood that Paul would find her somewhere in town was too high to bother trying to avoid him. School it was. She rose determined and walked brusquely to the grey double doors.
First up class was AP Composition, one of her easiest classes. The five minute bell rang as she unlocked the combo to her locker and pulled out her worn composition notebook. It's cover had been taped on many a time, but her best writing always came out in that notebook so she didn't mind. Weaving her way through hundreds of people she knew of but didn't know she arrived at her class and sat down in the third row. Mrs. Melfrey was at the front of the class writing on the whiteboard, the markers smelling all the way to the back of the class and making those horrid squeaking noises. Today's lesson was all about imagery in stories and poems. Imagery like the storm last night in Cinderella. Wendy quickly shook this thought from her mind. The story had frightened Michael a bit when the wave crashed down onto The Carriage, but thinking of Michael only made her eyes burn again. And the last place she wanted to cry was in here. Mrs. Melfrey was nice enough, but she couldn't let Lily see her.
Lily Tigre, class beauty, was perfect in almost every way. Her long black hair fell gracefully down the back of her perfectly fitted turquoise dress. Her dresses always fit perfectly, for when your father owned all the clothing shops in town, you had a way of getting just the right size. Wendy knew she shouldn't hate Lily, but there was just something about that girl, the confidence she had even when she was wrong, and the way she could never back down from a challenge... it bothered her somehow. Perhaps because in some ways, it reminded Wendy of a better version of herself. A version that hadn't lost both her father and then her mother within the first fifteen years of her life and been forced to live with the most horrible man for two years since. She was still lost in thought about Paul when Mrs. Melfrey called on her and when she answered her tone was sharper than it ought to have been.
"Something wrong?" asked Mrs. Malfrey. "Wendy, do you not want to share your writing today?"
Wendy always shared her writing, even if she thought it wasn't particularly good on special request of the class. She was known through the whole grade as the best story teller, no matter the story. Of course, Wendy soon discovered that her friends only liked her for her stories and this, discovered in Middle School, had somehow set her apart from the others. Sure, she knew their names and could spout off bits of gossip here and there about almost anyone in the school, but that wasn't that hard. A quick look in the girl's bathroom at Newbell High could tell you as much. Yet they still loved to hear her stories. So she stood up from her seat, walked to the front of the class and took her customary position on Mrs. Malfrey's stool. Cinderella would be preformed for class today as well, though the good bits were spiced up a bit. In fact, it wasn't just a storm that hit The Carriage, but a Narwhal! (Just what a Narwhal was doing in the middle of the Mediterranean was beyond the point, the point was; it was after her glass slipper!).
"Cinderella wasn't just called Cinderella for nothing!" said Wendy, "The name had come from the many cannons she had fired, sending the cinders up into the air. And tonight as no different; she fired everything she had. 'Port guns, Fire!' 'Starboard, guns, hold until we're about! Helmsman! Bring us around! I want a clear shot at the beast!' She knew that the white pearly horn of this whale would make a fine gift for her Prince Charming, and perhaps impress the King and Queen as well. For what would look better as the Queen's new scepter than the horn of a Mediterranean Narwhal? The Carriage was cutting through the wave mercilessly and upon sighting the Narwhal once more off her Starboard bow, she gave the command. 'Fire with all you've got, men!' The ruckus of the guns nearly knocked her off her feet had it not been for the cook whom had come up from down below to help in the fight. He caught her around the waist and righted her. 'Careful Miss' he warned, 'The Prince wouldn't want us to have to fish you out of the nasty blue before your weddin' day now would he?'
“'Oh cook,' She cried, for the Cook was her greatest companion aboard The Carriage. She could trust him with anything she knew. And who wouldn't trust their cook? After all, they do cook ones meals everyday and should one not trust them, why, how could you eat a single bite? 'Oh Cook!' Cried Cinderella, 'What if he doesn't want me? And what if he doesn't have my slipper! How shall I ever get through this?' 'Now, now Miss, you mustn’t think like that! Of course Prince Charming will be -er- charmed! To have you as his bride! The lad would be simply balmy to have anyone else! I know you two will make a fine pair, indeed!' 'Oh Cook, you're right, as usual, how silly I feel to be worried so!'
“But worried was exactly what Cinderella should have been, for at that very moment, Prince Charming was taking the arm of a visiting princess, leading her around the rooms of his grand castle. 'And this is the east wing,' said the Prince, 'where we keep our most valuable treasures! In fact, Mademoiselle, would you like to see a few?' 'Oooh, yes!' Trilled the Princess. 'Wonderful! This is the saber my father used in the war those many years ago. And this-' he said, pointing at a covered item. 'I wonder if I could ask you something Princess?' 'Anything Prince Charming!' 'I wonder if you could tell me what lies beneath this cover.' 'This cover? Why, I am sure I know! It is a ring!'
“Prince Charming was astounded. Every girl he brought in there got it wrong. How could they all be so stupid? Of course a ring is not shaped like a shoe! And revealing the glass slipper, he led this girl out of the room. 'Father, I shall never find my bride.' Prince-"
Wendy was interrupted by Mr. Pollack, the school principle who knocked on the doorframe, "Mrs. Malfrey? Oh, excuse me Wendy, sorry to interrupt. Mrs. Malfrey? I have your new student here!"
Principle Pollack stepped out of the doorframe, letting a boy of medium height saunter into the room. He looked around him nonchalantly and looked at Wendy who sat stick straight on the stool. Blonde hair fell over his eyes, turning darker toward the back of his head, he wore a maroon sweater with two white stripes crossing his chest, his eyes were greener than emeralds and when they fell upon Wendy, she couldn't help but suck in her breath a little. It was as if he already knew everything about her, that this glance told him nothing more than how she was feeling at that particular moment, on that particular day, and that he could simply dismiss the rest of her. Uncomfortable as it was, she was enchanted by this boy. Enchanted and enthralled.
"This is Peter everyone" said Mrs. Malfrey, "Peter, welcome to Senior AP Composition."
"Thanks" said Peter, suddenly a little uncomfortable when speaking to the class.
"You may take the empty seat between Lily and Wendy, third row. See it?" Lily waved to Peter and smiled. He moved over to the desk and sat down, seeming to have trouble getting his feet underneath it entirely, though he was not particularly tall. Not like some of the boys in Wendy's class. Not like Joshua, who sat in the back of the class, his legs sticking out up to his knees due to his extremely long legs. No, Peter certainly wasn't that tall. Yet something was bothering him, something had made him uncomfortable upon entering the class. And then Wendy saw what it was; every eye in the class was on him. Of course it would be awkward! To be the new student in a school of people who had known each other since they were toddlers. Oh how uncomfortable indeed.
"Wendy" said Mrs. Malfrey, "would you please continue your story? Peter, Wendy was just telling us a thrilling story regarding Cinderella aboard her ship The Carriage as she fought off a gruesome Narwhal in the Mediterranean Sea. It is an exercise in writing with imagery."
"Okay." said Peter, still uneasy as Wendy tore back into her story.
"Prince Charming was very worried that he would never find the girl who knew what lie beneath the veil in the room of treasures and despite all his father's attempts to console him, nothing worked! 'I shall go out and find her myself!' Said Prince Charming one day. 'No son! You mustn’t leave the castle! What if she were to come looking for you here? How would you two ever meet one another?' said his mother the Queen. 'Well Mother, you shall simply have to direct her to my ship, for I am going to find her, and that is that! I shall take my ship Royal Steed and search the coast of the Mediterranean for her. Scouring every town and village until I find her!' And that is precisely what he did. Prince Charming had his ship prepared and cast off within the day. A very fast period of time for even the Prince! But nevertheless he, his trusted crew, and the glass slipper beneath the veil were off on a voyage into the dangerous waters of the Mediterranean.
“His first stop was a small port not far from his own kingdom; Powellton. Powellton was a tiny village, but a bustling port and the Prince thought that he would find his bride here for sure! 'Cook! Said the Prince, will you please make me an extra special meal tonight? I believe I shall be bringing my bride to dine!' 'Yes milord' said the Cook, for she did not want to disappoint him, 'But would you not prefer to bring her here after you have shown her the slipper and matched it to the one she is undoubtedly wearing?' 'Cook, dear Cook, however would I get on in this world without you?' Said he, kissing her lightly on the cheek before disappearing below decks to retrieve the slipper.
“Well, the poor Prince scoured the town of Powellton high and low, asking Maiden after Maiden if she could decipher what was beneath his veiled pillow, but none could answer correctly! 'A necklace' said one, 'a fowl' said another. 'No, no, no! Not a necklace nor a fowl! How can maidens be so stupid? 'Tis just a glass slipper!' Upon returning back to the ship he announced to the Cook that he would take his supper in his private quarters. 'I do not wish to humiliate myself in front of the crew tonight. Best to let them just eat alone.' 'Dear Prince, you know you could never do such a thing. This crew loves you! And I can feel it in my bones; we'll find your bride on the morrow.' 'Oh?' said the Prince, brightening a little. 'Do you really think so?' 'I do,' said the Cook. And you can always trust a Cook. So the next morning, the Prince set out to travel across the Mediterranean, as the Cook had suggested before he retired, stopping not in a port, but rather moving on directly across the sea itself.
"Meanwhile, Cinderella was stuck in irons, their great beast of a whale in tow by it's beautiful white horn. 'You up there!' she called to the man in the crow’s nest, 'Do you see any wind?' The man on lookout was not actually a man, but rather a very young ships boy who was filling in for the man whom had gone to take a leak at the precise moment she had called to him, so the poor boy was unable to answer. 'I said, you there! Do you see any wind?' called Cinderella again. But when he did not answer, she became curious. Doffing her skirt to climb the nets in simply her undergarments, a very strange and wondrous thing even for Cinderella, she scurried up the netting to the crow’s nest. 'Boy, where is the man of the watch?' 'He is relieving himself, Miss' stammered the boy, beet red to see his Captain in her undergarments. 'Well then, whyn't you answer me?' 'I did not know that you could see the wind, Miss' he stuttered, adding shame to his embarrassment. 'Dear one, of course you can't see the wind, but you can see what it does! Why, look just over there, to port. See those ripples on the water? Those are called Cat's Paws. They dance across the water, turning it particularly dark when the wind is blowing there. Do you see?' 'Oh! I see now!' said the boy, excited at last. 'Then yes, Miss, I do see wind, about a half a league off the port bow!' Saluting smartly, Cinderella began her descent back down to the deck, satisfied that their time in irons wouldn't last much longer. 'I hope it doesn't she thought, for our food and water are running very low.'
"But the wind never came to The Carriage, and this perplexed Cinderella more than ever. 'Cook, I do not understand it. How can one see wind, see its direction, see its strength, and then not ever see its presence on your ship?' 'Miss, I do not know, I am but a humble Cook, good for nothing more than being in the kitchen.' 'Come now Cook, you are better than that. I have seen you steer this ship out of plenty of scrapes in my time. In fact, look at us now! I'll bet you could make this ship go again any time you likened!' 'Goodness me, Miss, haven't you thought that perhaps we are meant to stay just where we are?' Cinderella thought about his advice. Perhaps she ought to just float for a day's time more and see for herself if the wind wouldn't come and carry her away for it. 'Besides, she thought longingly, my Prince may have already wed another and I should not like to accidently barge in on their wedding date.' So the ship sat another night in irons as the Prince's Royal Steed continued on its course for them."
BRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGG!
"Oh! Goodness me! That is the bell for the end of first period! Wendy, thank you so much for your engaging story, we shall have to pick it up from there tomorrow. Your homework tonight is..." and Mrs. Malfrey trailed off.
Wendy hopped off the seat and walked back to her desk, feeling the eyes of someone boring into her cheek. Turning she saw Peter, hand out expectantly, brilliant white smile -or was it a smirk- in place.
"Hello. I'm Peter" he said
"Hello Peter, Wendy. How do you do?" she said, accepting his firm grip politely.
"Oh good, you two have introduced yourselves!" cried Mrs. Malfrey, "Wendy, Peter and you share the same schedule, would you mind showing him around today?"
"Not at all Mrs. Malfrey" replied Wendy, although it was the farthest thing from the truth. All she wanted to do today was hide herself in the back of the library, or the arms of a tree in the courtyard and forget the world existed. But now that she had committed herself-
"This way Peter, we have Chemistry next period. It's a bit of a walk."
Chemistry was nothing particularly interesting that day, there were no exciting experiments to conduct in the laboratory, nor interesting things to be heard from the teacher, just a lecture on the properties of Lithium and Nitrogen. But Wendy was glad of this. Peter wouldn't stop staring at her, and for some reason, she found herself returning his gaze. There was something strangely magnetic about those eyes of his, as though they were too young for the rest of him. She had tried pulling information from him, the usual, 'where did you move from?' 'How long have you been in town' questions, but his answers were quick and unrevealing. "Out of town" he had said, "About three days." So she knew he was really new to Newbell, but other than that, she had nothing else to go on. Peter seemed enthralled by most everything around him, except when teachers made him say things to the class.
'It almost seems as though... no, that can't be it' Thought Wendy to herself, 'It almost seems as though it isn't the class he's uncomfortable in front of, but the teachers! How very odd!'
After Chemistry came Mathematics, and Lunch. When the bell rang for lunch Wendy grabbed her books and headed to the courtyard to climb into the tree. Peter followed her, weaving through the crowds a few paces behind, and watched her swing up into the tree. "Wendy" he called. "Wendy?"
"Hmm? Yes Peter? What is it?"
"What period is this?"
"Haha, it's sit in a tree period." she replied, seeing her chance to poke a little fun at him.
"Really?" he asked, completely baffled.
At first Wendy was a little shocked. "No Peter, that was a joke. It's lunch right now, you can go and get some food to eat wherever you like."
"Oh" was his reply. Peter began to walk away, dejected.
"Or, well-" said Wendy, feeling slightly responsible for his pain. "If you want to, I guess you could sit up here with me."
"Awesome! Thanks Wendy!" said Peter, turning around and scampering up the tree faster than she had ever seen anyone climb.
"Peter! You are amazing! How did you learn to climb so fast?"
"I've always been able to, can't you?"
"No, it took me years to get over my fear of heights."
"Fear of heights?"
"Well, fear of falling really."
"Oh."
"Yeah. But after falling out of trees a couple hundred times, you stop being so afraid." she laughed.
"That was a joke right?" asked Peter, suddenly slightly wary of his precarious perch.
"Mostly," she giggled.
"Good. I don't think it would be good if my guide fell from a tree. I've never had a guide before, and I think you do a decent job" he smiled.
They sat in silence for a while, as Wendy munched on her sack lunch.
"Peter, aren't you going to eat something?"
"Naw, I'm not hungry."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'll eat later. But tell me something?"
"Sure"
"Well, two things."
"Okay, shoot."
"One, why were you crying this morning? And two, why can you always trust a Cook?"
"I- uh- how did you know I was crying?" asked Wendy, a little shocked at his strange knowledge.
"I rode my bike to school today and chased the crows down the bike path. I saw you crying there."
"Well- I- You see, it's kind of a long story."
"Oh, I like stories. And you're a really good story teller, you know that?"
"Thanks."
"But you didn't answer my other question!"
"Why trust a Cook? That's easy. You trust a Cook to cook your meals, and if you intend to eat, then you ought not worry about them divulging secrets to others or doing strange things to your ship."
"I see." said Peter, seemingly satisfied with that answer.
As the bell tolled to end lunch and Peter climbed down from the tree he said, "Wendy, I can find the next class on my own. And you should know that John and Michael are going to be fine."
"What?!" Said Wendy, but it was too late, Peter had not heard her, he was already waltzing across the courtyard toward their P.E. class.
"How did he know that?" wondered Wendy aloud as she walked to the girl's locker room to change. "There are a lot of things about that boy that I don't quite understand."
Wendy went into the girl's locker room to start getting undressed, the walls were "high school" pink; the type that you know is reserved specifically for high schools and it was unusually cold. Well, not unusually, it was almost always cold in the Newbell locker rooms and while in the summer that was nice, the fall and winter terms left some changes to be made to the general heating system. So shivering, she dawned the school uniforms; black unisex shorts and black unisex t-shirts with names printed "clearly" on the front. Joining the class in the gym she spotted Peter and made a bee-line for him. Before she could make it there, however, coach B. called her out to lead the stretches.
"Oh, uh, sure coach" she said, turning swiftly to face the class. "Uh, everybody please stretch your calves and then your ankles."
Once stretches were over it was three laps around the gym to warm up. Wendy assured herself that this was when she would catch Peter. Yet when they took off, Peter shot from the starting line and didn't slow down until he finished. Wendy was more than out of breath from trying to catch up to him when he sauntered over to her grinning wildly.
"You're not very fast, are you?" he laughed.
"I-was-just-tired." she puffed.
"Oh, sure!" he said, flitting away again before she could collect herself.
The period was wasted on her as far as prying information from Peter, every game they played, he always won (to the dismay of all the jocks in the class) and Wendy could hardly keep up with him!
"I don't know what he had for breakfast," said one of the school's running backs for the Newbell High Panthers, "but I want some!"
The next period, however, was more successful. It was Drama in room 302 of the East Wing. The East Wing was the most interesting part of the school to Wendy. Rumor had originally been a pet shop but years before she, or anyone else she knew, had been at school there, it had burned down. Most of the animals escaped or had been saved by the fire department of course, but a few didn't make it. It was said that the angry shop keeper still haunted the drama department's storage attic because that was where he was last found trying to rescue his animals. Wendy thought it was a great story, but about as credible as Cinderalla's Narwhal in the Mediterranean Sea. Still, though, you never went into the storage attic alone; strange things were known to happen in there... and it was not somewhere to be caught unawares! So when Mr. Steffan asked her and Peter to go up there and retrieve some props for their next play; Romeo and Juliet, she was both thrilled to be alone with Peter, and slightly apprehensive.
"Peter," she said as they walked up the stairs to the attic.
"Wendy, have you ever seen a ghost?"
"Uh, no, but Peter, I wanted to ask you something..."
"Well, Mary said there were ghosts up here and to watch your back because they might just try to sneak up on you and get you. I was wondering if you knew what a ghost looked like."
"No, I don't. Do you?" she replied, seeing that he would not listen to her topic of conversation.
"Of course I do!"
"Oh?" asked Wendy, "And just how do you know that?"
"Well," replied Peter, clearly enjoying the fact that he would get to tell the story for once. "There was this one night. I was in a graveyard and it was Hallow's Eve. I was there to watch the ghosts dance and sing because what else do you do on a perfectly good Hallow's Eve? So there I was, waiting in the bushes behind a grave, hoping that the thick leaves would conceal me and giddy to think I might meet an actual ghost when all of a sudden!"
"All of a sudden what?" asked Wendy of Peter who had stopped to read the writing on the wall.
"Huh, Janice loved Ian. Who's Ian?"
"I don't have the slightest. But all of a sudden what Peter?"
"Huh? Oh, I don't remember. What were you saying?"
This was turning out to be quite frustrating, thought Wendy. It was as if his mind was simply functioning at 100 miles per hour.
"I was asking you how you knew John and Michael would be alright. Have you met them before?"
"John and Michael are going to be fine."
"Yes, but how do you know them? Have you met?"
"Woah! Look at this Wendy!" said Peter, opening the door to the storage attic. "Look at all these costumes! And- is that a tricycle hanging from the ceiling?" In no time at all Peter was off in the depths of the attic, trying on all manner of clothing and riding around on the tricycle he had first spotted.
"Peter!" called Wendy, "Peter, have you found anything Shakespearian?" Peter stepped out from behind a rack of clothing, dressed like an elf with a pointed robin hood hat on his head.
"How do you do Wendylady?" he grinned.
"Lovely Peter, I'm sure Mr. Steffan will just adore that for Romeo's role." She giggled, rolling her eyes and picking up another dress.
"Wendy, try that one on!"
"This?" she said, holding the renaissance dress up to her chest.
"I don't think it will fit!"
"Nonsense!" said Peter who took it from her and slipped the hanger from its shoulders.
"Please Wendylady," he bowed, "try this lovely gown on!"
"Ha ha, alright Peter." she took the gown from him and hid around behind a rack of clothing to begin unzipping it. From her left there came a small tinkling sound.
"Peter, please be a gentleman and stay on your side of the room for a moment."
"What's that Wendy?" said Peter from the opposite corner.
"Peter, come here a moment." she replied, listening closely for the sound again.
"What's up?" said Peter, suddenly by her side as she held the dress in her arms and cupped a hand to her ear.
"Do you hear a faint tinkling sound? See? There it was again!" she exclaimed.
"I didn't hear anything."
"It sounded just like a tiny bell. Listen. I think it's coming from over there." But this time, the sound came from behind them. "But I was sure it came from-"
"Shhhh!" said Peter, covering her mouth quickly.
"Peter!" she tried, but he wouldn't let go. Nodding her assent, he released her and they both listened quietly. Mouthing signals to one another. 'To your Left' signaled Peter. 'No, No, Your right!' said Wendy. The small bell seemed to be coming from two directions at once!
"Wait." said peter aloud this time, but still whispering.
"Did you see that?" "See what?" whispered Wendy in reply. "That hat over there just moved."
"The hat??"
"Yes. The brown one. See it? Stay here, I'm going to go figure out what moved it." said Peter.
"No! Don't it could be the ghost!"
"What ghost?"
"The ghost of the pet shop owner!"
"I'm not afraid." said Peter, picking up a stage dagger that was still quite sharp looking.
"Please, Peter, let's just go back down. We've got the gown we came for."
"No, I want to know what it is!" Suddenly there came a great clattering from one corner of the attic, causing both Peter and Wendy to jump out of their skins.
"Ohhh, Peter, I'm leaving right now!" said Wendy, no longer caring to whisper. "I've always hated this place!"
"Don't be silly." he replied, carrying the dagger out in front of him and moving toward where he had last seen the hat, for it had moved again. "Where'd it go?" he wondered aloud.
"I don't know, but be careful..." Wendy warned.
"I will, I will."
"Peter!" cried Wendy.
"What? What? What's wrong?" he said, spinning around too quickly and knocking a coat rack full of coats down on top of himself. "Oof. Wendy, help me!"
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha," laughed Wendy, "Oh Peter." She knelt down beside him to lift off the coats while a small black and white kitten inspected the face of a very shocked boy. "It was a kitten! She had this bell caught around her foot! How in the world did she get up here?"
Peter sat up in the mountain of coats and began to pet the small creature, his green eyes alight with wonder and joy. The kitten seemed to mimic him, purring loudly at his touch.
"OOh, I do believe she likes you Peter."
"I shall call her Tinkerbell." he said, picking her up and holding her to the dim lighting. Wendy tried to take the bell from Tink's paw, but the little kitten was too fast and scurried back around behind Peter. "She doesn't like you much Wendy. She thinks you don't like her either since you were so afraid."
"Me? Afraid?"
"Here, Tinkerbell, let me get that for you." Said Peter, taking the small bell and ribbon from her paw and tying it in a neat bow around her neck instead.
Wendy carried the dress back down the stairs of the drama department storage room and walked back to Mr. Steffan's room to hang up the dress and go to work. Life at the Jolly Roger's Galley had been pretty slow for Wendy lately and she'd do anything to get a different job, but she needed the money, and she knew there was nowhere else but the Gazzillion Games Arcade in the mall that she could get work for the hours she kept. If only her boss James T. wasn't so nasty.
James T. as he was known to all his staff was driving his car to work the very morning that Wendy had burst from her house. Actually, he was really just driving back to work. He'd only left for an hour to get some food at the local pub and change his clothes in the Men's Restroom. Yes, James T. actually lived at the Jolly Roger's Galley Convience store on 30th and Marbury. Ever since his mother had died he had to sell her home and find a new place, yet somehow, he couldn't find a single home that would work for him. He had his office secretly outfitted with a fold out bed from the wall, and the mirror in the bathroom was really a built in medicine cabinet. Not that he ever kept any medicine in it. No, James T. was always healthy. Strangely so, in fact. His only downfall was cat dandruff which sent him into fitful sneezing and brought on flu like symptoms if ever he were to be near it. But this had never bothered him. He was a fairly simple man. All he wanted was power, power and riches. Like any man. He thought to himself as he drove down the road. If HE had power and riches, why, this whole town could be under his rule!
James turned onto 30th like any normal day, but slammed on the breaks as a blur of a being ran past his hood. He honked on the steering wheel for it to continue on its merry way, but by the time he had done so, the person, if it had been a person, was gone, leaving his claw stuck firmly in the steering wheel's breast. Ah, yes, his claw. He had lost his right hand to a freak zoo accident as a young man. He was reaching in to feed the crocodiles in the reptile exhibit at his job at the zoo in Belfront, the larger city a few hours up the road from Newbell, when all of a sudden, one of the crocodiles sped out of the water and snapped the meat bucket from his hand. As the first did this, a second came upon him, trying to repeat the joke, and accidently snapped his hand instead! Ever since James T. had been terrified of crocodiles, crocodiles and clocks were his enemy as the latter reminded him of each passing second that he was without his hand. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Hand is gone, fed a croc. Tick, tock, tick, tock. James yanked his hook from his steering wheel and muttering curses smoothed his mustache and continued on to work. It had been nearly three years since that incident with the zoo, and his metal claw replacement had served him well in most cases. It was indefinitely handy when it came to opening packages of goods, and holding coats, but the metallic appliance gave him a fearsome reputation among the locals. Some even dared to call him Hook. And some impudent pups, even joked at his being Cap'n Hook, Cap'n of the Jolly Roger's Galley!
"I'll show those blithering idiots" growled Hook, already in a fine mood for the morning. "One of these days, they'll see, they'll see!"
Pulling into the parking lot of his beloved Jolly Roger, Hook flicked off his headlights and stepped out of the car. A strange wood-y smell greeted his nostrils and whipping around, hook at the ready, thinking his ship –shop-, on fire, he was startled to see two Wig-Wams stationed out front of his shop in the "Disabled" parking spots. Adjacent were seven blobs of sleeping bags, surely the L05T B0Y5 troop #0505 of the Wilderness Lads.
"BOYS!" thundered Hook. "GET OFF MY SHIP! -er- SHOP! GET OFF MY PROPERTY!"
At this, the L05T B0Y5 started to their feet, looking wildly about, some still holding the sticks they most assuredly had been using to ward off the rival troop the night before. So too, the 1ND1AN5 troop # 115 stumbled out of their wig-wams. Suddenly aware of their surroundings, a boy from each troop launched themselves at Hook.
"Please Please Please Hook! The In'juns have been here five times already! Won't you let us poor Lost Boys stay once?"
"Please Sir, these mongrels aren't fit to be front and center on your storefront, let us, the proper troop, continue to bring you valuable business!" said the other boy.
"Mongrels? Not fit?" said the lost boys' representative.
"You heard me you filthy runt!" said the Indians'.
"Filthy runt! Why you feather headed idiot!"
"Feathers were a part of Native American culture and if you can't respect that-"
"Respect this!" said the Lost boy, who promptly stuck his bottom in the air and waggled it around.
"ENOUGH!" bellowed Hook. "You BOTH shall have my storefront this day, and tomorrow, I expect you both to be gone! Understand? This is the LAST day you shall sit like dogs begging for goods on the stoop of MY shop! Go and bother some old woman and sell HER the cookies!"
"Hooray!" cheered both troops, each scrambling to get their tables set up, though the sun had barely begun to rise over the crest of Sterling Hill in the East.
Hook walked up to his storefront, wading through filthy fifth grade boys, and muttering about the beurocrats who allowed such nonsense to run savagely through this town he unlocked the front door and flicked on the lights.
"Smee!" he called, "Up and ready! I want the new colors up and lit this morning! Smee?! Where the devil are you?!"
"Smee" as Hook called his assistant Manager, also slept in the Jolly Roger's Galley, though not in anywhere near as much comfort as Hook. Smee was a known drunkard in Newbell, and Hook had given him lodgings in the Jolly Roger mostly because Smee worshipped the ground he walked on, but also as a security guard and assistant Manager, to look over his shop during the few hours that Hook, himself, was away. As of late, Smee had slept in the janitor's closet near the restrooms of the shop, cramming himself, for he was a very large, if stout, little man, into a hammock above his large collection of wine. Smee's collection of wine was about as vast as Hook's collection of claws. Each kept their valuables on racks in their rooms, for easy access should they be needed. Hook went into his "office" and removed his present hook to replace it with a special hook installed with a pen and sat down to write in his daily "log" as he like to call it, of all the goings on of the Jolly Roger's Galley.
Smee waddled out the front door holding the Jolly Roger's newest sign. This one read, "All baked goods 30% off! Buy Buy Buy at the Jolly Roger's Galley!" in neon lettering against a pitch black pirate flag. Such was the customary way of Smee, putting up signs, taking them down, waddling to and fro day in and day out, stopping for a drink from the bottle and a nap here and there. He was a simple man by most standards, though he longed to be great in his heart of hearts.
"Woah!" hollered Smee as one of the Indian's boys nearly toppled over the ladder he so precariously stood upon. "Be careful down there lads!"
"Sorry Mr. Smee!" cried the boy.
"Boys, always under your feet." muttered Smee, "I remember when I was a boy... And did no one ever have such wild adventures!" he chuckled. But in all his chuckling, Smee failed to count properly the steps on the way down the ladder and toppled down with a great ka-thunk!
"Smee?" called Hook from his office. "Smee? Was that you?"
"Oh, bother, bother, bother." said Smee, dusting himself off to the raucous laughter of the boys.
It was a slow day at the Jolly Roger, a few customers here and there, but mostly just the regular few who came to return bottles and buy snacks for their daily commute. Nothing in particular for the Captain, or, rather manager, to note in his logs. It wasn't until Wendy came in that any new developments occurred whatsoever. Three thirty two as usual Wendy scurried into the Jolly Roger, dropping her backpack over the counter and sliding over the top of it to her post. Hook had warned her time and time again to get there precisely at three thirty every day, and Wendy had fought just as long and hard as he to explain that she could not, in fact, arrive until three thirty two as that was when the bus arrived each day. Hook had taken it all rather poorly and threatened to dock Wendy's pay once or twice, but she had played her trump card at every turn; threatening to leave. Hook needed her there more than he cared to admit. She knew how to keep things in order, how to clean it up and make his store look presentable, so that when that awful county-wide manager came to town he could show off his employees and his shop with a gleam of pride in his over exaggerated mustache. So Wendy made it a purpose to keep things clean, and for a while anyway, Hook had kept off her back about being two minutes off schedule. Until today that is...
"Wendy!" roared Hook. "Two minutes late! That's two minutes off your pay for the rest of the month!"
"Two minutes, sir?" babbled Smee.
"Two minutes exactly! Deduct it Smee!"
Wendy rolled her eyes and continued to tighten the roll of receipt paper in the cash register. This was his way of things, two minutes here, two minutes there, but in two minutes time, the two of them would be so engrossed in how to figure two minutes worth of pay for every day that Wendy worked; Hook so sure that his answer was correct and Smee so incompetent at relating these figures to the calculator, that they would both forget what it was that they were arguing about in the first place.
"Ring, ring" said the shop's bell, tolling the entrance of a customer.
"No, no, thanks boys, I've got no room for cookies today. But you ought to try me tomorrow, I'm sure to have a few extra coins with me tomorrow."
"Oh please, Mr. if we don't sell these cookies, my parents will whip us they will!" said Tootles.
"Whip you? Are you sure?" said the young man who had attempted to enter the store. He was of medium height and had rather scraggly black hair. He wore relaxed looking jeans and a rain jacket despite the blue skies outside.
"Tootles!" chided Wendy, I'll have none of that today. Please, come on in, don't let those rascals bother you - uh, I don't believe we've met. Are you new in town?" said Wendy, realizing for the first time that this was her second stranger of the day. Rare occurrences indeed for a long time occupant of Newbell.
“Yes, my family has just relocated from London a week or so ago. Have you lived here long?”
“Since I can begin remembering things. Those that come to Newbell have a habit of staying in Newbell I’m afraid.”
“So do you go to Newbell secondary- I mean, high school?”
“Yes, I’m a senior there this year. Are you enrolling?”
“Yeah, I should be in there by the end of the month. My name’s James, by the way.” he said shaking her hand, “James Barrie.”
“Wendy Darling, pleased to meet you, James.”
