He looks back at her once, then without waiting, he leaps again—nimble as a mountain goat—catching stunted trees and hidden handholds. Wendy watches him climb. The cliff face looks very high.

“Come on!” Instead of flying, Peter shows off a new skill, his feet always landing exactly where he means them to, his hands never failing to find a hold.

“Wait for me.” Wendy reaches for a thick, jutting branch, testing it against her weight.

Climbing trees is one thing, but this is something else altogether. She cranes her neck, but she can’t see Peter anymore. She focuses on the cliff, pulling herself up and finding the first foothold. Barely a foot off the ground, she’s dizzy, giddy with a sense of adventure, her nerves tingling with fear. What if Peter is taking her somewhere dangerous, somewhere they shouldn’t be?

She has to stretch for the next handhold, groping with her fingers while keeping her eyes on the rock ahead of her. Sweat gathers, sticking a strand of hair to her forehead. Peter makes it look so easy, Neverland always there to help him every step of the way. Branches scratch at her skin and her muscles tremble, but she’s determined not to be left behind.

“Hurry up, Wendy!” Peter’s voice trills with laughter. Wendy has the impulse to say something very unladylike, but she needs to save her breath for climbing. Loose dirt and pebbles slide under her feet. When she reaches for the next handhold, Peter catches her wrist, startling her. Her feet slip, leaving her hanging over empty air, but Peter hauls her up as easily as though she were a rag doll.

She lands in an ungainly heap, gasping like a caught fish. When she’s able to sit up, she sees they’re on an outcropping of rock. Peering over the edge, she’s amazed to see how high she’s climbed. Neverland spreads like a patchwork quilt below them, the lagoon glittering, the beach curling pale around the borders of the island.

“In here.” Peter lays a finger to his lips, then points, his expression mischievous.

If he hadn’t shown her right where to look, Wendy would have missed the crack in the rock entirely. In fact, if she turns her head even a bit, it vanishes. It’s only a shadow, surely not big enough for a boy to fit through, but Peter turns sideways, slipping in as easily as water. Wendy hesitates, but she knows without having to be told that it’s like flying—she has to believe. As narrow as the gap is, there’s no room for both a girl and her doubt to fit through. Taking a deep breath, Wendy plunges into the dark on Peter’s heels.