“I—” Before she can protest, Peter interrupts her, his voice sharp as a hand clapped over her mouth so that she finds she cannot say anything at all.

“We’ll start with you. You’re Wendy, and I’m Peter.” His smile flashes bright as the light reflecting off the water, dazzling her just the same.

She wants to object, but looking at Peter’s smile, it’s as if the earth and sky suddenly switched places, leaving her dizzy and breathless. When the world rights itself, she blinks, wondering at the circle of boys around her.

She feels exposed with all of them peering down at her. She gets to her feet, brushing sand from her nightgown as best she can. Peter was speaking, wasn’t he? What was it that he was saying?

She straightens, standing as tall as possible and putting her shoulders back for good measure. She remembers Cook, who is shorter than both her mother and her father, telling her that it’s the best way to stand up to someone trying to intimidate you. Just like animals in nature that make themselves look bigger to scare predators away. She can’t imagine anyone arguing with Cook when she gets that particular look in her eyes, not even her grandfather, though she’d like to see him try.

The thought almost makes her giggle, and with it, some of her fear vanishes. Now that she looks at them properly, she sees a good number of the boys, even the ones who look closer to her age or older, are shorter than her.

“I’m called Arthur, just like the king.” The tallest of the boys steps forward, nearly knocking over the youngest one as he does. He says his name like a challenge, daring her to contradict him, his expression hard.

He’s wearing the skin of some sort of animal—she can’t tell what—draped over his shoulders. The cuff ends of his pants are ragged, the waist held up by a length of tied rope. He carries a stick, almost as tall as he is, knife cuts evident where branches and bark have been hacked away. He plants one end in the sand and leans on it as he peers down at her.

“Are you really called Wendy, then?”

A gull screams, its shadow falling on the boy, then the sand, as it circles overhead. The way Arthur and some of the other boys look at her, it’s as if they know her, or think they do, though she’s certain she’s never seen a single one of them before.

“I’m—” She wants to say no, but Peter cuts her off once again, keeping her from answering.