Wendy tried to focus and ignore her swimming head. She dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out her phone. The screen was blurry and, in the back of her mind, she realized her eyes were watering, but she was able to call 9-1-1.

As soon as the ringing stopped, before the dispatcher could say a word, Wendy choked out, “Help!”

CHAPTER 2

Peter

“What’s your name, miss?”

“Wendy Darling,” she said, leaning to the side, trying to see the still-unconscious boy as the other paramedics put him on a stretcher.

“Do you know where you are?”

“I’m a mile from my house, sitting here with you.” She jerked her hand back as he tried to feel the pulse at her wrist.

“I’m Dallas. I’m a paramedic.”

Wendy glanced at the shiny badge on his navy uniform, the embroidered patch on his sleeve that read ASTORIA, OREGON FIRE DEPARTMENT—PARAMEDIC. “I can see that.”

“I’m just going to do a couple of tests to make sure you’re all right,” he continued. After she had called 9-1-1, the fire department arrived on scene, closely followed by an ambulance. They went right to the boy before taking her aside to ask questions.

“I’m fine, Dallas the Paramedic,” she said, pushing the penlight he was holding out of her face. With all the volunteering she did at the hospital, not to mention her mom working in the ER, Wendy knew all of the emergency medical service workers in Astoria, Oregon. Dallas the Paramedic was new. Probably still doing his volunteer hours, if she had to guess, based on how textbook his questions were.

“Does anything hurt?”

“Just my butt from sitting on the side of the road,” she told him, again craning her neck to watch the ambulance. The gurney made loud clacking noises as the paramedics loaded the boy in. Wendy wanted to yell at them to be more careful.

“Did you hit your head in the accident at all?”

“It wasn’t an accident. I’m fine, my truck is fine.” She sucked in a deep breath. “There was no accident.”

“Okay, miss,” he said, standing up and putting his stethoscope back into his bag. The doors to the ambulance slammed shut.

They were taking him away. Wendy felt a swell of panic. She needed to see him, needed to talk to him, needed to find out who he was. She needed to prove to herself that he wasn’t Peter Pan, just a boy. A very lost boy who had somehow ended up in the middle of the road.

“I want to go to the hospital,” Wendy blurted out.

Dallas blinked. “What?”

“The hospital. I want to go. Can I follow? Like I said, my truck is fine, it’s just on the side of the road.” The tugging need to follow him only grew more persistent as the ambulance started to pull away.