12. Peter
12
Peter
W e ate so much pizza that my stomach felt round and tight and I thought I might never have to eat again, but that’d be a shame because pizza was delicious. I wanted to try other stuff too, and Everett was happy when he talked about all his favorite foods. He listed stuff I’d never even heard of, like pho that was spelled P-H-O but pronounced with a kind of bit-lipped “F” sound.
When we were kids, it’d all been pizza and chicken nuggets and canned green beans, but now he’d gone out and he’d tried so much. A rippling cloud of jealousy and excitement swirled through me. I hated that I’d missed out on doing all those things with him—on going to school and seeing him develop his art and eating pho for the first time—but I hoped we could make up for it now that he’d come back. Maybe it’d still be special, even if it was just my first time trying everything.
I hoped he wouldn’t get bored or think I wasn’t interesting because it was all new to me. Ugh, I wanted to catch up to him and impress him like he impressed me, and I wanted to see all the art he’d made so much .
The only problem was it felt like too much to do too fast, and I wanted to pack it all in at once so it felt like we hadn’t lost anything. The feeling of losing something was new, and I didn’t like it very much.
Still, pizza helped. There was something more magical than flying mixed up in the combination of melty cheese, pineapple, and ham. It settled inside me, warm and full.
“Can I ask you a favor?” I said when we’d finished eating and fallen quiet, lulled into a stupor by full bellies.
Everett nodded. “Sure. Anything.”
“Would it be okay if I slept over, maybe for a little while? I can’t really go back to the forest. It’s...not as welcoming to grown-ups. But even if I could—” I wanted to stay there, with him. I didn’t want to lose him ever again.
“Of course, Peter, yeah. I don’t want you to go anywhere else.”
I sighed and couldn’t help a big smile that stretched across my lips. “Good. Then that’s settled. It’ll be so much fun.”
Everett bit his lip. I’d missed that twinkle in his eye. He’d always been quieter than the lost kids, but that was just because he spent time alone. He was different, just like me.
“Yeah,” he agreed, licking his finger and dragging it through the crumbs on his plate before popping them into his mouth.
“Was that Aurora, with you last night?” Everett asked, as he leaned back into his grandma’s old couch so the springs squeaked. His empty plate was still on his chest, and looking at him now, I could see his face was kind of sallow and his eyes looked puffy and tired like he hadn’t slept well. I suppose he hadn’t, being out on the swing all night. Everett always gone home at bedtime, slept in a proper bed with a Spiderman comforter. He wasn’t used to napping in trees.
“Yeah, she...she was out in the woods way before I came along. Then it was me. There are other kids out there too—Will and Jessie and Mary and some others. I—I think there were more, but some of them left?” They were fuzzy spots in my memory now, but I hadn’t realized there’d been so many.
Maybe that meant I wasn’t doomed after all.
“Are they...okay out there?” Everett sat up a little and set his plate on the coffee table in front of us. He was actually worried about them.
I grinned. “Oh, yeah. Definitely. I was never cold or hungry or lonely. Not—well, not until I started to grow up. That part’s hard. It set me apart from the other kids back—back when you were here the first time. When somebody starts changing, it really stands out. But we’re protected in the forest. Nothing can hurt us—Aurora said so, and she knows everything there is to know about magic.”
“So it’s really faeries?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t see any little flying people or anything, but I’m sure it’s magic. You’ll see.”
Even though I was different now, I was so happy. That light, bubbly feeling in my chest that accompanied magic was just as strong as ever. Surely I wouldn’t lose that too.
I paused, staring as he reached out. His eyes were narrowed and intense as he shifted closer. Then, his warm fingers brushed over my ear and my breath caught. I remembered holding his hand, leaning against his arm—all those little touches that’d made me feel like flying. This was that and more, and I stayed very still so he wouldn’t pull away.
“Were your ears always like this?” he asked, his voice so quiet when it was just the two of us.
I reached up then, touching the pointed tips. “I think so?”
“I don’t remember them.”
I grinned. “Maybe it’s the magic. It helped you forget. Helped me forget a whole lot more than a pair of ears.”
The sound of his laugh was warm and homey. “Fair point.”
He dropped his hand in his lap, but I wasn’t done yet. I wiggled closer to him, my legs folded on the couch between us.
When I reached out, he didn’t pull away, so I pushed his dark hair back. It wasn’t too long, but it curled at the ends and hid the tops of his ears. They were round and just like normal.
“I didn’t forget you though,” I promised. I wanted him to know it always, that even if he’d come back and hadn’t found me, I’d never stopped missing him.
“I know. I’m really sorry, Peter.”
I shook my head. “Stop saying that.”
“Okay, but I am, so whenever you need to hear it?—”
I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to think about losing him. “Just don’t leave me behind again?”
He gripped my hands, even as I traced his silly ears. “I won’t.”
I don’t know what came over me then, except that bubbly magic pizza feeling, and how nice it was to hold his hands and have him close and know that I wasn’t too lost and too alone, at least for Everett.
I just—I wanted a piece of that joy I’d felt the night we watched a movie on the floor and ate Cracker Jacks. I wanted a piece of all the years I’d missed out on.
So I kissed him, quick and soft, my face burning hot when I leaned back. “Good,” I said, and I let him go, but only for a very good reason. “Do you want another slice of pizza?”