“Of course she’s called Wendy. She’s here to be our mother.” His mouth presses into a straight line. The expression makes him look far older than his slight body implies, but it’s only a moment before it cracks again in a lopsided grin. “Isn’t that right, Wendy? You’re our mother, and you’re going to cook for us, and tell us stories, and take care of us when we’re sick.”

“I don’t know how to cook.” She blurts the words, and they aren’t entirely a lie.

She really is only at the beginning of her lessons with Cook, and she’s never made anything on her own. Half the time when she’s in the kitchen, she lets herself get distracted by Cook’s stories about her home in Canada before she came to England. As long as her mother isn’t around to keep an eye on them—and sometimes even when she is—it’s easy to get Cook telling stories about Star Boy, and the Above People who live in the sky, or all the different birds and animals and plants in Canada that don’t live in England.

And really, what does it matter whether she knows how to cook or not? Who is Peter to order her about and tell her what she is and what she’ll do? She isn’t interested in being anybody’s mother, not now and maybe not ever, and besides, half these boys are older than she is anyway. She’s about to open her mouth to say as much, but Peter talks over her once again.

“Don’t be silly.” He seizes her hand, putting an end to the argument before it’s even begun.

He tugs at her, so she’s forced to follow him or trip and find herself with a mouth full of sand. Then he’s nearly running, and she’s too stunned and breathless to object. The boys fall in behind them, talking and shoving as they follow along.

Peter leads them away from the brightness of the beach. She turns to glance over her shoulder, seeing the ship properly for the first time. It’s only half a ship really, wrecked upon the shore like the bleached skeleton of an impossibly huge whale. One mast remains whole, the other cracked halfway down. A flag stirs at the top of the unbroken mast. Time and weather have faded it from black to gray, but as the wind snaps it straight, a skull and crossbones grins at her.