Read Neverland for Free Online

lands on a hill somewhere close to the jungle. Stretching his limbs, he sprawls out on the ground.
    I follow suit and study the many stars in the velvety sky. The grass is still warm from the sun and smells amazing. “I love lying in the grass back home on a warm day like this,” I muse into the silent night.
    “If you stay, you can do that every day. There’s never one day of bad weather in Neverland.”
    Fascinated, I roll onto my front and gaze at his daring face. “Never?”
    “Never, ever! Pixie swear.” With his right index finger, he draws a cross over his heart and smirks. “So, what do you think? We have an empty sleeping booth in our tree. It’s the perfect size for you.” He waggles his brows in this typical teasing manner that I’ve gotten to know today.
    “You’re fighting a dirty battle, Peter Pan. And you’re absolutely right, Neverland really is amazing.”
    His grin spreads wider at my words.
    “But you have a group of fine friends around you,” I argue. “You love them all, don’t you?” When he nods, I continue, “So you can understand why I must leave? Back in London, my baby sisters are waiting for me. They would miss me terribly if I never came back. And I miss them so much.”
    For a short moment we are both silent. I wait for Peter to say something, to show me he understands my need to go back. But he says nothing. So I ask, “Why do you want me to stay anyway?”
    “Because you’re a girl…and girls know how to tell stories.”
    “Stories? That’s it?” Somehow I feel a little disappointed by his answer.
    “Well, yeah.” He shrugs and laces his fingers behind his head, looking back at the sky. “I think it’s cool to have someone to tell you stories before bedtime.”
    I do know many stories, and the twins love me reading them picture books every night before bedtime. Come to think of it, what was the last story I read to them? Was it Little Red Riding Hood? I’m hooked on that thought, because the harder I try to remember, the more the answer seems to drift away from me. Just like my name.
    Next to me, I hear Peter sigh. “None of us boys know any good stories, and Tami…well, she’s really not the kind to sit at your bedside and tell a tale.” He snorts. “She would just dip us all in pixie dust.”
    It seems so odd for a guy his age to listen to stories. Maybe it has something to do with his past. His life back in his real home? I go for a random guess. “Did your mother read you stories before bedtime when you were little?”
    “I don’t remember the time before I came to the jungle,” he answers, his tone stark and distant. He sounds so hurt and defensive that my breath freezes in my lungs for a shocked second.
    “I’m sorry,” I whisper after a while. “I didn’t mean to get too personal.”
    “You weren’t. It’s just what it is. You don’t remember your name; I don’t remember where I come from. End of story.”
    I don’t like his sudden change of mood. Mostly because I feel sad for him when he lays out cold facts like this. What’s more, I feel like he’s not being completely honest with me right now. Maybe a smile and a gentle poke in the ribs can tease out the happy Pan again. “You were right before, Peter,” I tease him, wrinkling my nose. “You are a lousy storyteller.”
    Eventually a laugh slips from his lips and he shoves playfully against my shoulder. I shove back, and he shoves again. This time I tip sideways, but I can’t let him get away with this, so the shoving continues until we both roll in a bundle down the hill. Our joint laughter echoes around us.
    By the time we reach the bottom, I’m dizzy. The world keeps turning around me for a minute. Then I realize I’m straddling Peter’s stomach, hands braced on his chest. He grabs my upper arms to steady me. On his right arm, there’s a fading scar that I haven’t noticed before. It runs from his elbow upward und disappears under the sleeve of his t-shirt. From the looks