There was a collage of magazine, newspaper, and online articles printed out and tacked to the wall. “Oh, that,” Wendy said. “John was fascinated by things that scientists and archaeologists found at the bottom of the ocean. Shipwrecks, evidence of underwater cities, stuff like that,” she explained. “Whenever he found those stories, he would cut or print them out and then hang them up on the wall. He wants to be an underwater archaeologist when he grows up—or he used to, anyway. I have no idea if that’s still true.” Wendy frowned. It was strange to consider that her brothers had grown and changed enough that maybe she had no idea what they were like now.

“When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?” Peter asked. His tone was quiet, eyes locked onto Wendy’s with his head tipped curiously to the side. He sucked on the puffy cut on his lip.

“A nurse, like my mom,” Wendy said with a shrug. “I think most kids want to be like their parents when they grow up. And a nurse was a far more interesting option than a banker,” she added with a crinkle of her nose.

“And what about now?”

“Hmm,” Wendy hummed to herself, absentmindedly rubbing the bear’s ear between her fingers. She thought of all the forms and pamphlets back in her room. Of the academic roadmap she’d made for a nursing degree. Of the unfinished one for premed. “I don’t think I know yet,” she confessed. “Maybe a doctor?” A thrill ran up her spine. It was the first time she’d said it out loud. “But I haven’t decided. That’s what college is for, right?”

Peter’s expression fell and he busied himself with examining his palm.

“What about you?” Wendy asked, trying to bring him back.

“Me?” Peter said, furrowing his brow. He let out a small laugh that lacked any humor.

“Yeah, did you ever have dreams about growing up?” she persisted.

Peter shook his head. “No, I can’t grow up—or I wasn’t supposed to, anyway,” he said, looking down at himself.

“But everyone thinks about possible futures for themselves,” she said. “There wasn’t anything you wanted to be? Other than just yourself?”

“No, I never had that feeling,” he told her. “I was Peter Pan, the boy who never had to grow up. I got to live in Neverland and anything I could think up, I could become. A pirate, an explorer, a scuba diver,” he listed, staring out the window. “Growing up meant responsibilities: school, jobs, getting old and eventually dying—”

“But you had all those lost kids to look after,” Wendy pointed out. “That’s a big responsibility, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s still fun,” he countered. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking. “In Neverland, I could do whatever I wanted. I was free.”