Mrs. Darling walked into the kitchen and Wendy looked at Peter. If he had a tail, it would’ve been tucked between his legs.

Wendy stepped close, her fingers knotting into the hem of his shirt. “What are you doing here?” she hissed, frantically searching his face for why on earth he would show up at her house when her mother was still home.

“I couldn’t wait any longer—I wanted to see you,” Peter whispered back. The earnest but apprehensive look on his face sent a rush from her navel to the tips of her toes.

“Here,” Mrs. Darling said, handing a bag of frozen peas to Wendy. “Take a seat, Barry,” she told Peter as she gestured to the kitchen table.

Peter sat down obediently. Mrs. Darling eyed the fading bruises and carefully examined the cut on his lip through her glasses. “Hmm, at least it’s healing properly,” she told Peter. “But you boys need to be careful—you could’ve lost a tooth.” She gave him a disapproving look. Peter sank in his seat. “Keep the peas on it for twenty minutes. That will bring down the swelling,” Mrs. Darling said, waving Wendy over.

Wendy tossed him the bag of peas. He easily caught it.

“I didn’t know you were coming over, Barry,” Mrs. Darling said as she glanced at Wendy, eyebrows raised.

“Uh, yeah,” Wendy said. “I meant to ask you earlier if it was okay, but I sort of forgot. We were just going to watch a movie in the living room.”

Her mother gave her a dubious look, but she retrieved her purse from the counter. “Well, all right,” Mrs. Darling said. “If it gets too late, Barry,” she said, looking back at Peter, “I want you to call your parents and have them pick you up, okay?” She tied her hair up into a knot. “I don’t want you walking home alone.”

Peter nodded. “I will, Mrs. Darling.”

She gave him a soft smile, then turned to Wendy. “Stay in the living room, no going upstairs,” she said with a pointed look.

Wendy blushed furiously. “Mom.” She did not appreciate her mother’s amused expression.

“Have a good night, you two,” Mrs. Darling said before walking out the front door and locking it behind her.

Now that they were alone, Wendy turned on Peter.

Both of his hands went up in defense, one still holding the bag of peas. “I tried to wait for you!” he said. “But you never came outside!” The look on Peter’s face, jutted lip and all, was petulant at best.

“It—it’s fine,” Wendy stammered, hands smoothing out the front of her shirt as she did her best impression of someone who wasn’t frazzled. “I couldn’t get away—I was talking to my mom and then she made me help her clean the house.” She waved a hand through the air in frustration.