She pointed to the living room. “Try to be quiet, my mom is asleep on the couch,” she whispered to him. He nodded in reply. His blue eyes were wide and alert. “Look,” she said, nodding in the direction of the TV. “They found your hideout…”

Peter quietly stepped into the living room for a closer look. He squinted as his eyes scanned, reading the information scrolling by on the bottom of the screen. He sighed.

“Good timing on our part, I guess,” he said, keeping his voice low. His eyes slid over to Mrs. Darling asleep on the couch. She had a pillow propped under her head. Her glasses were askew. Deep frown lines scrunched her brow and pulled down at the corners of her mouth.

Peter’s shoulders sank.

Wendy gestured for him to come back and pointed toward the hallway that led to the stairs.

His eyes slid back to Mrs. Darling. He lingered for a moment before retreating. Peter had just entered the kitchen when Wendy pushed the sliding glass door shut. It let out a high-pitched squeal of rubber against glass.

Mrs. Darling stirred on the couch.

Wendy grabbed a bewildered Peter and shoved him into the hallway and out of sight.

“Wendy?” Mrs. Darling’s voice, thick from sleep, mumbled from the living room.

“Yeah, Mom, it’s me!” Wendy called back. “I just got home from the hospital.”

Peter pressed his back against the wall, cringing.

Mrs. Darling sat up and readjusted her glasses on her face. “Just now?” She looked down at the plastic watch on her wrist and frowned.

“It was a really crazy day,” Wendy said, nodding vigorously. “They needed all the help they could get! But I’m really exhausted, so I’m going to head up to bed.”

“Oh … all right.” Mrs. Darling sat back on the couch and gave Wendy a tired smile. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

The only thing that saved Wendy from her poorly constructed lies was the fact that she’d never lied to her parents before, so they had no real reason to doubt or question her. Especially about things like sneaking around with mysterious boys. Or any boys.

“You too, Mom.”

Peter was waiting for Wendy in the hallway with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked like a child inside a museum who had been scolded not to touch anything. She tried not to smile.

Wendy pointed up the stairs and poked the middle of his back, urging him forward. Peter led the way up and, when they got to the second floor landing, he made to open the door to her and her brothers’ old room.

“Not that one,” Wendy said quietly, gently catching his elbow. She nodded her head to the right. “My room is over here now.”

Realization shadowed Peter’s features. His eyes went to the doorknob for a moment before he nodded.