Page 118 of The Last Lost Girl

His voice rumbles. “Go get some fresh air, Belle.”

My sister is indignant. I can see it in the flare of her nostrils. But her feet hit the floor and she stomps across the room. Her hand pauses on the door handle, and she turns to speak over her shoulder.

“Makes sure she sleeps, Hudson. She’s terrified of the notion, but it’s what she needs,” Belle snips before seeing herself out.

“Why are you afraid to sleep?” he asks, rubbing my back.

I blink up at him. “Because I keep forgetting.”

thirty-seven

Peter climbs up the tree I’m in. I lean forward so he can step over my back. He sits down on the branch beside me and dangles his legs like I am. I’m not sure why he’s here.

“It’s my turn to keep watch,” I tell him. I’m doing my part. We have to watch for predators that might smell food and wander over to see what’s cooking.

He shrugs. “I know.”

I look away from him, toward the stars. The Second Star is so much brighter than any star I’ve ever seen. Mama loves going outside at night. We turn out all the lights, wrap up in a blanket together, sit on the glider in the back yard, and watch the sky. Sitting outside, we talk about all kinds of things. What I want to be when I grow up. How she met Daddy. About school and how math doesn’t make any sense.

Mama is so smart. She has an answer for anything I ask. Sometimes, I sit with her and don’t talk or ask a thing and she lets me.

She teaches me the names of all the stars she knows and draws the shape of the constellations with her hand across the sky. If I can’t see it, she’ll draw it on paper in the kitchen before we go to bed, and we’ll take it out with us the next night so I can compare her drawing to the sky.

I miss her.

I bet she’s worried about me. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but I hate to think of how afraid she must have been when I didn’t come home from the park like I promised.

I don’t remember her name, or Daddy’s. I don’t remember mine, either.

“You like the stars…” Peter muses.

“Don’t you?” I ask.

He sighs and looks up into the clear night sky. “I hate them. But I’m glad they can’t speak. They know all the secrets I keep in the dark. They see everything and forget nothing.”

“What about the sun? It’s a star. Do you hate it, too?”

He nods. “It knows all the secrets I keep in the light.”

“And it sees everything and forgets nothing,” I tack on.

“That’s right.” He picks at the bark on the branch. “I hope you don’t mind if I sit with you. Sometimes, it’s nice to not feel lonely.”

Lonely?

“But you’re always with somebody,” I tell him, shifting to get more comfortable. The Lost Boys rarely let him out of their sight. They want to be close to him. I think they want to be him.

He throws a piece of stripped bark and watches it land in the leaves. “Being alone is not the same as feeling like you are.”

I’ve never seen Peter Pan look anything but strong. Unease curls down my spine and I wonder what he’s up to, because he’s always creating new games. Sometimes they’re cruel ones that pit the boys against each other.

“Who’s coming to relieve you?” he asks.

“Hudson.”

He slowly nods. “Have you met him?”

I shake my head. If I have, I don’t remember him. “I don’t think so,” I answer.

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