How Peter Pan Grew Up (A Bridge-Fic Between "Peter Pan" and "Hook")

Part 2: The First Conversation

After about a year or so, Lizzie seemed to forget about her anxiety over Peter Pan and his fairyland, and I am glad to say we became close friends. She would come into my room and we would discuss everything from fashion to schoolfellows, girls we didn't like, and boys we did. I did notice that the sorts of boys Lizzie found interesting closely resembled Mother's description of Peter Pan, but I held my tongue. She had successfully left that part of her childhood behind and was shaping up to be a strong, well-balanced young lady. No sense in dredging up a thing of the past that wasn't needed or wanted for the future.

I shall never forget the topic on one particular night. That night, I was nearly eighteen and getting ready to seriously date, and Lizzie was fast nearing thirteen. We were talking about Harry, a boy in Lizzie's class whom I had heard express interest in "the little blonde chick with the big round eyes and the dimples." Who else could it be but Lizzie? My sister, though, was not so sure what to think.

"I just don't know, Maggie!" she complained, fiddling with the quilt on my bed.

I could see the color spreading over her cheeks. I seized the moment.

"What more do you need to know?" I asked. "He likes you, Liz."

"He likes how I look," Lizzie corrected me. "We've never spoken."

"Then how is he supposed to have anything else to like?" I countered. "You need to talk to him, Lizzie."

She looked up at me, a brief moment of terror in her eyes. "Really, I do?"

I rolled my eyes. "Of course! You're smart and funny; if you don't talk to him he might just go on thinking you're cute, and next semester he'll fall for another girl. You've got to show him you're worth getting to know better, and that means talking to him." I grabbed her hand and held it tight as it trembled. "You can do this, Dizzy Lizzie. It's hard, but it's worth it. Dave and I would not be where we are today if I had not spoken with him. It's the selfish guys who only care about how a girl looks; real guys will care about how she thinks."

Lizzie smiled, leaned forward, and wrapped her arms around me. "Thank you," she said, and hopped off the bed.

"Good night!" I called, and Lizzie closed the door behind her. I turned off the light and lay down in bed.

My eyelids drooped, but it seemed only a few seconds before I awoke again with the sensation of being cold. I tried curling deeper under the covers, but a steady "whap-whap-whap" alerted me that something was out of place. I peeked out of my covers. Why, the window stood wide open! How had that happened? I groaned as I tumbled out of bed and across the room to close the window. When I turned to go back to bed, I was dimly aware there was something different about the shadows in the room. I climbed into bed, scanning every inch of the room as I did so.

"Hullo, Lizzie!"

I shrieked and dove under the covers as a small body dropped down from the ceiling and landed on the end of my bed! What scared me most, though, is that I knew exactly who it was. He was real! Mother and Lizzie were right!

"Lizzie," Peter Pan persisted, "It's spring cleaning, don't you remember?"

Oh, if only this was a dream! I pushed the covers slightly off my face. "Go away!" I told him, "I'm not Lizzie!"

"You aren't?" Suddenly he was hovering in the air over me, squinting at my face. He unceremoniously yanked the covers all the way off.

"Oh," he frowned, "You're the other one."

"Excuse me!" I sat up quickly, forcing him to retreat, and pulled the covers back up. "My name is Margaret."

By now, Peter had lost interest in me, and was poking and prying into the things around my room. I called him away from it, "Get over here," I pointed to the foot of my bed. Peter obeyed. I got my first look at the boy who caused so much trouble in my family.